


Where there are stars

by blue_chocolate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_chocolate/pseuds/blue_chocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hush baby, it won’t hurt. Easy.”<br/>“Please stop…”<br/>“I love you, okay? It won’t hurt.”<br/>“Y-yeah… okay. I love you too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where there are stars

**Author's Note:**

> this story is quite fucked to be fair, so a little heads-up for that

“Hey Z, what lessons do we have today?”

“English, drama, literature, PE, and history, why?”

Harry shrugged, although a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Just wondering,” he said and yanked his bag further up his shoulder so that his spine wouldn’t take the damage that would follow. Zayn was just picking up his bag as well, the two starting to walk through the endless hallways to their first class.

Classical music played through the speakers placed in different “hidden” spots of the corridor like it always did the last minutes before the first class took place. It had been the headmaster’s decision – why, no one knew, but perhaps because it would have a positive effect on the pupils.

“’s Liam there?” Harry asked as they neared the classroom, loud obnoxious voices tumbling out from in there.

“Yeah, he should be anyway. Well, if he hasn’t overslept. Heard he was up ‘till three am watching NHL.”

Harry groaned, “I’ll never understand him.”

“Who will?” Zayn chuckled just in time before they entered the small hell-hole called “Morning-English-Class”.

Their teacher was nowhere to be seen so they sunk down in chairs next to each other, hoping that they wouldn’t have to switch back to their usual spots. They had been caught many times, but Mr. Horan was nice enough to let it pass. “ _Just this once_ ,” he’d tell them, but when they did it the next day and the next the teacher just shrugged it off with a smile directed to the two.

They had this morning lesson three times a week, and everyone who should be tired – at least a _little bit_ – were instead howling at the top of their voices, throwing those stupid paper planes across the room over unsuspecting heads, not to mention the wonderful drawings on the whiteboard at the front and people snogging on the desks.

“Studied?” Zayn asked.

“Well enough. But it isn’t until tomorrow, right?”

“Nope, right this lesson mate.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed and hid his face in his hands, “so maybe I didn’t study…”

“And why’s that?” Zayn was grinning now, but only in relief that he wasn’t the only one who had procrastinated this week’s test.

“Eh…” Harry searched his brain after excuses, but couldn’t come up with a lie good enough for his friend to hear. He could always blame TV for luring him in, but that was a shit excuse and they both knew it. He needed an excuse, however, if he didn’t want Zayn to find out.

He simply shrugged and hoped the conversation would be dropped. At the same moment their teacher entered the room, followed by Liam rushing by like a maniac, dumping his bags on the desk next to Harry with a long exhale and then sliding down in his chair, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Overslept?” Harry whispered and Liam only nodded, trying to pay attention to Mr. Horan in the front. That’s when Harry zoned out and longed for the end of that Wednesday.

***

Harry should have been embarrassed when entering the large hall, where he stood staring for what felt like hours, and he should have been worried about what the other pupils would say if they saw him, but he couldn’t bother with any of that.

This was the reason he hadn’t been able to study or sleep for the past week. This was the reason his whole body was shaking and his muscles were sore from working out to the best of his fifteen-year old ability. This was why the biggest factor that forced him back to school day after day. To see him, every damn part of him he was allowed to see.

He simply tightened the loose grip he had around his bag and entered the locker room with hesitant, lingering steps. Inside everyone was already changing but luckily enough they didn’t react to his presence like he’d feared a few weeks earlier, when he’d came out.

He had half expected to get books thrown at him in the hallway, names shouted at him for existing, being tripped on the way to his desk, or even get his house bombarded by eggs or something even sillier. Fact was though, that not a single soul minded him being who he was born to be, and if they did they sure as hell didn’t show it.

Harry still took a spot away from the others to prevent any fight or such from occurring, and quickly slipped into his gym clothes. He was already shaking, rather violently, and anyone who spared a glance at him would see that he was practically falling apart piece by piece.

But no one did look at him. Zayn and Liam had already gone out and Harry stood awkwardly in the locker room, rubbing his hand up and down his arm while trying not to let his gaze linger anywhere, or worst-case-scenario, on any _one_.

He wasn’t quite prepared to go out there yet, but was dragged out as he heard a whistle blow harshly outside.

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

The lesson went by somewhat smoothly – he only fell twice and knocked into one of the girls when they were running – and he ran in to shower quickly and after getting dressed again he slipped out the door, hopefully no one noticing his absence.

Tip-toeing his way forward through the long, winding halls to their teacher’s office he swallowed deeply and he felt like crying. Although – he needed to do this. To get some sleep and a stilled mind.

He knocked on the open door and swallowed once more when the man at the desk looked up.

“Harry?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry cursed his stuttering, “sorry to bother you Mr. Tomlinson.”

“It’s Louis for you, and take a seat, if you’d like.”

Harry liked to call them friends, even though Louis was almost ten years older than him, and the two had spoken many times in the hallways and even outside of school.

So, Harry took the seat Louis had gestured to and fiddled with his fingers to delay his request. It sounded wrong to call it a request, though, but it was kind of what it was.

“Anything on your mind?” Louis asked him and cocked his head, leaning forward to try to catch Harry’s wandering gaze. “Please look at me,” the teacher mumbled and placed a finger under Harry’s chin, tilting his head up to meet the blue eyes haunting his thoughts every second of the day.

At first the boy just shook his head, contemplating on whether to just drop it and walk away, but this was the longest he’d lasted in the year he’d known the man in front of him. He couldn’t drop it.

When he felt tears prickle behind his eyes he simply shot forward, pressing his lips to Louis’ and praying that he wouldn’t get a black eye from doing this. He understood a bit more what the couples on TV felt when they kissed, and he thought that this was okay for a first kiss.

A hand on his chest pushed him away weakly and Harry hadn’t realized that he was crying until he looked into Louis’ grey eyes. He wanted to apologize a thousand times and then a thousand more, but at the same time this was what he’d set out to do. He wasn’t disappointed or regretful towards his actions, but to his thoughts for leading him here.

Lips sealed, he tried to ignore the tear running down his cheek and the voice in his head telling him what a freak he was, _pathetic_ probably would have fit in better.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, reaching up and wiping the tear away as Harry’s breath hitched, “none of that. You shouldn’t cry.”

“I f-fucked up,” he choked out before Louis’ lips was on his again.

And again.

And again.

***

Every day after that particular class, Harry stayed over the break, sneaking into the office to steal a kiss from Louis, which sometimes turned into snogging.

Like now, when Harry was sat in Louis’ lap, hands on his cheeks and tongue in his mouth. He felt his teacher’s hands trail up under his shirt and over his back, then down to squeeze his bum.

It was heaven.

“Harry,” Louis breathed out when they parted and the boy smiled shyly.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry nodded and Louis only groaned, going back to kiss the younger boy one last time.

Then came the question that would change his life, even though he did not know it yet.

“Baby, do you trust me?”

Harry took a moment to ponder and bite his lip, but there was only one answer he could give.

“Of course,” he replied and Louis flashed a smile.

“Could you stay in the shower after tomorrow’s lesson?”

Harry’s eyes widened momentarily, and he nodded with a gulp.

“Yeah, sure.”

***

When everyone was gone from the locker room the following day, Harry stepped into the shower. He didn’t quite know what to expect, but his heart was beating wildly out of his chest.

Even more so when he felt a couple of hands on his waist.

“Hush baby,” Louis whispered where his lips were latched onto Harry’s neck, “relax. This will feel good.”

“Louis…” Harry whimpered in realization and tried to get away from the man behind him, only to be met by a hard cold wall in front.

“Hush,” Louis soothed him, placing small kisses along his throat and down on his shoulder and shoulder blades. “Just trust me.”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, Harry thought afterwards when his whole body was clenching in pain and he felt so sore. Most of the people in his class and this entire area had already lost their virginity, after all. But probably not in the school’s locker room with their gym teacher.

So that became the first time they had sex.

***

A few days later Louis had asked if Harry wanted to go home with him over the weekend, and Harry had eagerly accepted, the pain from earlier completely forgotten. Whatever he felt for his teacher was growing stronger and stronger every time they saw each other, and whatever he had to go through was worth it because he was rewarded with one of Louis’ soft kisses.

He didn’t think much of it as he fell down on Louis’ bed, the other male standing over his exposed body and biting his skin, bruising his pale complexion.

But then everything was going so fast and he was sobbing in pain as Louis’ fingers worked him open.

“Hush baby, it won’t hurt,” Louis muttered out and placed a reassuring kiss to his parted lips, “easy.”

“Please stop…” Harry cried out but his body remained powerless as Louis slammed his fingers back in.

“I love you, okay?” Louis blurted out and Harry watched him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “It won’t hurt.”

“Y-yeah…” Harry sighed and let out a whimper as Louis started easing his way into the younger boy. “Okay. I love you too.”

That was the second time they had sex.

***

The third time was in the morning, when Harry woke up alone in his teacher’s bed.

He had been sleeping with his arms around Louis the whole night and for a while the two had been cuddling, something Harry found was the most amazing and satisfying feeling in the world.

He saw with tired morning eyes as Louis placed a camera the desk in front of the bed and then crawled up Harry’s body, leaning down to kiss him.

“Morning beautiful,” Louis smiled against his lips and Harry lit up. Louis calling him beautiful had never happened before. Come to think of it, no one had ever called him beautiful, or cute, or handsome, or good-looking.

“Hey,” came his response but Louis didn’t seem to mind. Instead he removed the duvet from Harry’s still naked body and kissed down his chest until his chin was brushing the younger boy’s thighs and his tongue was trailing patterns on the head of his cock.

Harry had his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and his open mouth letting out constant whimpers. He wouldn’t have felt Louis’ fingers pressing against his entrance if he hadn’t been so _damn sore_.

“N-no,” he protested and his head fell back to the pillows when Louis took him in deeper, entering him at the same time. Dry.

“Louis…” he croaked and gripped the mattress, trying to stay calm but it was pretty fucking hard when his arse was being ripped in half.

“I love you,” Louis said around his mouthful of cock and Harry nearly laughed before Louis added another finger, scissoring him open.

“L-love you too,” he sighed when Louis pulled out, hovering over him with a slight grin. Then Harry spotted the camera on the desk.

“What’s that?” he asked dumbly and Louis threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” the teacher told him, going down to kiss him, “you’re gonna be my good boy?”

“Yeah.”

Louis hummed and kissed him again, Harry whining at the loss of contact, and then Louis was leaning back on his elbows, staring at Harry expectantly. It took a lot to not understand what the older man wanted.

So Harry gulped, and then went down to suck him off, glancing hesitantly at the camera with watering eyes. But the way Louis was moaning in pleasure and ecstasy kept him going, forcing himself to take more and more into his mouth until he was gagging.

“So good Harry,” Louis praised and gripped his curly hair, pushing him on and off his cock. Harry had no control whatsoever over the actions, except for maybe how much tongue he used and how his hands stroked Louis’ waist and chest softly.

Then he was being pressed into the mattress with Louis attacking his neck, the tip of his cock brushing against Harry.

“Can you moan real nicely for me, baby boy?” Louis wondered a little breathless and slammed into him. Harry forced a moan instead of a scream and let Louis do whatever he desired with his already beaten body.

***

Harry hadn’t been to school for weeks. He hadn’t made any contacts with the few friends he had, or his family. He had barely moved out of bed at all, and he had eaten very little during these days.

Louis took care of him in many different ways. He’d bring him tea in the morning with a gentle kiss on the lips and help him out of bed and into the shower. In the shower Harry would often stiffen as Louis’ hands swept over his skin, remembering his first time. At school. And for the first time since everything had started he begun questioning his choices and feelings.

Was this supposed to be love?

To have his _teacher_ abuse him, use him in every way he pleased and Harry was just expected to take it like a good boy? He was like an animal, lying barely conscious in Louis’ bed until the adult came home and fucked him only to then get up and cook dinner or do paperwork and letting Harry sob himself to a quick rest before round two.

There had been many bloodstains on the sheets during their “sessions”, and every time Louis would just hush him and tell him how good he was, how beautiful he looked, how much he was loved.

Harry hadn’t worn clothes in the past three days, and he hadn’t moved either.

Louis had gone to change the duvet and Harry just lay there motionless, naked and with dried cum all over him, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling, asking himself what the hell he had done wrong.

He hadn’t seen sunshine in a month other than through the bedroom window and he was pretty sure he was starting to fade away. Physically, mentally. Emotionally.

So one day he got up.

Louis was working, so it had to be a weekday. Harry rolled out of bed, hitting his ribs and then standing up, falling to the floor a couple of times before throwing on some clothes. Louis’ clothes. He stumbled out in the hallway and sat down in front of the TV. The news showed _February 15 th, 09.56_.

_Congratulations to being sixteen, Styles._

Come to think of it, Louis had wished him a happy birthday two weeks ago. Well, it had to be two weeks ago if he was to trust the news.

That, however, wasn’t what caught his attention.

On the local news a few minutes later there was a picture of him. Wide smile, green eyes, long fresh hair. Everyone was wondering where he’d went, he saw his mother asking _where her dear baby boy had gone_. Baby boy.

His sister was there, crying, telling how she couldn’t begin to understand why he would run away, or how she hoped he was alright if he’d been kidnapped.

There was Liam with a shaky voice, trying to remain stable as he gave all information he could about Harry’s whereabouts, which wasn’t much after a month’s disappearance.

Zayn stood beside him, unable to hold back the heavy sobs racking his body and with Liam’s arm around him they were guided out of the picture.

And Harry just sat there.

He didn’t cry, or scream. He didn’t move a single muscle. He didn’t feel sad or angry. He was just _there_. He fucking _felt_ Louis’ lips on his neck, hands going further down his body, breath in his ear. He wasn’t living anymore.

He forced himself up, trying to ignore the way the loose fitting clothes still brushed against all sensitive parts of his body as he walked and when he saw his reflection in the mirror that was when he finally lost it.

His hair was matted and lay in long thick stripes against his forehead, his eyes were barely the strong green colour they used to be and had now taken on a slightly grey shade that looked awfully a lot like Louis’, his face had sunken in and his cheek and collarbones were painfully visible.

The shirt slipped down over his shoulder that was only skin and bones and his skin was no longer pale, but white as snow. White like Louis’ teeth. His smile. The parts of his body that weren’t seemingly dead were tainted with blue, purple and yellow bruises from Louis’ lips and fingers.

He dared to let the shirt drop completely off of him, landing on the bathroom floor. It had been one month only, but since he’d eaten about four real meals during that time he’d already dropped a few pounds, and it showed clearly by his ribcage when he gazed into the mirror.

Screaming would have been nice. Trashing things would have been nice. Escaping the house _would have been nice._

But Harry hadn’t the power to do any of that, so he got rid of all clothes, stepping into the shower to feel something other than pain and emptiness. He felt warm, and it hurt a lot when the slight pressure hit his body, remembering him that he wasn’t his own person anymore.

The shower became his safe zone when Louis was away. A place where he could cry and scream during the days he felt a little less weak and a little less empty.

***

When it had gone three months since he first entered the god-damn house the searches for him had slowly stopped one by one until the case was abandoned. That’s what he figured after watching the ten o’clock news every morning when he was alone in the house.

He was dead to the world, and quite frankly, he was dead to himself.

The bags under his eyes grew because he would wake in the middle of the night with Louis’ arms around him and try to scream, but not once did any sound escape his abused lips.

Suddenly his old life didn’t seem so bad.

Every little thing he’d complained about was vaporized and now he only wanted to go back in time to a place he once called home.

***

Candles were lit on the table while the room was dark, creating a supposedly cosy atmosphere to eat in. Food – salad, potatoes and meat – stood ready and fuck did it smell good.

Louis was already sat. He’d called Harry down for dinner and about seven minutes later the boy had appeared in the doorway where he was now stood, cold eyes staring at the full plate in front of him and then at Louis.

“Sit,” the adult told him gently but Harry couldn’t move. Everything was spinning and he felt sick.

“Baby, how are you feeling?”

_Baby boy._

That’s all it took for Harry to run to the sink and empty the tiny amount of remaining content in his stomach, Louis walking up behind to place a soft hand on his back while whispering sweet, soothing words in his ear.

When Harry finished, Louis carefully turned him around and placed a kiss on his lips, telling him that everything would be fine and that he was such a good boy. Arms were wrapped around him in a loose but choking grip and Harry just cried.

He wanted to die.

***

It was after a morning round on a Friday that Louis left to work and left a bleeding Harry half unconscious on the bed, his bare body exposed to the cold air in the room.

He had a tear floating around in his eye but he hadn’t got the power to release it.

Morning rounds were rare, but also the worst. Since Louis had to be at work he was going harder and faster than usual and it was during those times Harry allowed himself to break down completely – when blood poured out of him and his sensitive spots were burning.

He had gotten up an hour or two later to get a shower and then he stared at his reflection, a simple thought crossing his mind.

_Enough._

And that was all it took for him to summon the power and will to walk out of the house after five months behind locked doors.

Easy as that.

When he got home his mother was there, calling for Gemma to come into the kitchen because she wanted to show a dress that’d fit her, but was instead met by her son – bruises and other disturbing things littering his body.

As soon as she’d reached him he dropped into her arms with a choked _mum_ and then the two were crying, his mother calling his friends and police to let them know that Harry Styles had been found alive, and was now safe in his home.

***

He hadn’t spoken a word since he came home, so no one knew what had happened to him. It was obvious that he’d been mistreated, and it was even more obvious that he’d been raped but he would let anyone get close enough to him to take DNA tests.

As two weeks became five after his arrival at home he turned mute and never uttered a sound. He lay in hospital three out of those five weeks and had medication being pumped into his veins as Red Hot Chilli Peppers were playing on a loop somewhere near his room.

Zayn and Liam had visited him and talked to him, saying how much he was loved and how much he’d been missed, but he didn’t even look at them – just stared straight forward into the grey wall opposite his bed.

His friends were wise enough to not near him, and soon left. They visited him every day even if it was to just tell him what the weather was like or how crappy the school lunch was.

When he was asleep in his hospital bed they’d given him heavy meds so that they could take tests on him, and it didn’t take long to conclude that the man who’d hurt Harry was teacher Louis Tomlinson at the local school, the school Harry went to.

Without Harry’s knowledge, Louis was sent to court and sentenced to lifetime for rape and kidnapping.

The police had dropped by Harry’s hospital room and spoken to him, but they received the same answer as everyone else.

Silence.

***

It was during his second month in therapy, at the age of seventeen, that he started speaking again.

He was glaring at his therapist, a woman in her late forties with glasses on the bridge of her slightly crooked nose. One simple question had set a chain reaction of events in Harry’s brain and he snapped. Being silent for nearly a year wasn’t something he’d enjoyed exactly.

“How am I feeling?” Harry repeated and her eyes went wide as he spoke, “how does it feel? I don’t know, ma’am. Have you ever had to enjoy sex when you’re bleeding out of your ass and the only thing you’re told is to ‘be a good boy’? Have you ever felt so broken that you couldn’t move for days because you didn’t have any reason to do so? Have your teacher, your _friend_ who’s nine years older than you, ever, ever ignored your cries for help and just _carried on_? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered ‘what the hell did I do wrong?’ and just wished, to fucking _God_ that the next time he came home would be the last?”

His chest was heaving upside down and his voice was scratchy from being unused for so long.

“It will _never_ be the last,” he gritted out before storming out of her office.

***

It took eleven years after that for Harry to start liking someone again.

By the time he was twenty-eight he was working at a supermarket when a guy, one of his co-workers actually, came up to ask him out on a date.

_Dates are nice. Dates are warm. Dates are safe._

Whether or not Harry had simply killed the memory of being abused or if he ignored it became a mystery, but everyone in the town knew him as the little kid who got raped by a teacher, which meant that his co-worker was utterly delighted when he accepted with a small smile.

Everything went fine until they were supposed to kiss and Harry started crying in the middle of the restaurant, pleading under his breath that it wouldn’t hurt.

“ _You said it wouldn’t hurt._ ”

His friend had just wrapped an arm very loosely around him and told him with the calmest voice he could manage that it was okay to cry. Not that everything would be fine, or that he was fine. That was bullshit. But for Harry to hear that it was okay to be weak sometimes, it was okay to be fucked up once in a while, that set a smile to his lips and they shared their first kiss through his tears.

***

At the age of thirty-four, Harry was married to the same guy that had asked him out.

The most heated thing the two did was sharing kisses, and Harry wanted to do those things that should come naturally for a couple, but he couldn’t. That would make his husband another _him_ and he couldn’t afford that. So many times he’d been told that it didn’t matter if they slept together or not, as long as they loved each other and _this_ , Harry told his fifteen year old self, _this was love._

Another five years later from the marriage started, they decided to adopt a child.

Harry was crying as he watched his daughter take her first steps and he pecked his husband’s lips, watching as their little girl stumbled to then fall onto a couple of pillows placed to protect her.

They watched her grow together, painting in colouring books and spilling food on her new princess dress, playing with cars together with the boys in kindergarten and running around in their backyard during the hot summer days.

When Harry turned forty his husband asked him what he wanted for a present.

Harry had turned to him and pulled up the corner of his lip carefully.

“Smile.”

Before he could question it Harry was taking a deep breath and leaning forward to kiss him, remembering that _this is your husband_ and _this is your husband_ all over again – anything it took to not see those grey eyes.

***

It was one summer day two years later that Harry told his husband about his time as a fifteen year old.

They were sat on the porch at dusk with the sun in their faces and a light breeze sweeping past, hands locked gently and Harry rested his head on his husband’s shoulder.

“He said it wouldn’t hurt,” Harry whispered and stared out over the golden fields with blurred eyes. “He said he loved me.”

It didn’t take long for his husband to understand what Harry was talking about, and he wanted to tell Harry that he didn’t have to talk about it, but all he’d ever told anyone was the rant with his therapist when he was seventeen.

So Harry sighed and closed his eyes, preparing to reveal the worst decision of his life.

“His name was Mr. Tomlinson.”

***

There would be days when Harry snapped and locked himself in the bathroom for hours without making a sound other than choked whimpers, stepping into the shower fully clothed with cold water running down his back and he would hear his daughter ask his husband from outside the door, _what’s wrong with daddy?_

Then he would think what _was_ wrong with him. And so everything Louis had said to him during those months in his house came back, swirling around in his head, banging on the inside of his skull with their sledgehammers and wrecking balls.

They made him unable to hear his husband’s pleading to him from outside, telling him to do his best to _calm down_ and that Louis was _in jail_ and therefore _out of his life_. And Harry knew that. He knew that his former teacher was in on lifetime. He knew that. But it sure as hell didn’t make it easier to open the god-damn door to the bathroom and falling into his husband’s arms.

He’d often cry until he had run out of tears. On his bad days, that is.

On his good days he would lay cuddled up under a blanket in the couch, watching the two people he loved the most in the world colour silly pictures of imaginary fairies and talking flowers, and then they would glance up at him, smiling softly and his daughter would giggle.

And those times life felt okay again.

***

Then there was the day Louis got out of jail somehow and Harry had a panic attack.

They happened occasionally when Harry would see him everywhere, feel his touch and teeth on him and he’d black out, put his hands over his ears to block out any sound, and then scream at the top of his voice. Those times his husband would tell their daughter to go out and play in their yard, that it was nothing to worry about.

Sometimes he managed to calm Harry, and the green-eyed male would cry into his chest, holding onto his shirt for dear life. Other times Harry would start throwing things or breaking chairs and paintings to ease the pain and fright he was feeling.

One day when that happened their daughter had refused to go out, and she’d seen her dad in a sobbing mess on the floor, scratching at his skin to escape the anxiety and panic somehow, escape Louis’ hold on him, the hugs, the kisses, the sex, the small pats on the back, his hands, his lips, his _eyes_.

The day Louis got out of jail was what nearly killed Harry.

He’d sat in front of the TV again after the attack had passed and watched his face on the news and suddenly everything was so real.

Harry was then forty-seven and Louis fifty-six. Louis had spent thirty-one years in jail and Harry was married and had a little girl to take care of.

But nothing had changed, really.

The same age difference was there and the past was there, the past that determined Harry’s every decision even now, thirty years later. The past that made Harry afraid of touching even his husband, and sometimes to even kiss was a struggle for him.

And now Louis was out. A free man. A man who happened to take control over Harry’s life as a teenager and made Harry trust him, made him believe that it was _okay_ because _they were in love_ and _it will feel good_.

Harry had sat cross-legged in front of the TV when his eight year old daughter stumbled into the room, colourful backpack on her shoulder that dropped to the floor when she sat down a foot or two away from him. She’d learnt the hard way to not get too close to her father when he was in this _state_ , but that there _was no problem with him whatsoever, don’t worry pumpkin._

She spotted the news sometime later when she realized that Harry wasn’t going to snap out of it any soon.

“Hey daddy, that man looks like our teacher!” she said happily and it was like he’d been stabbed.

_No._

He couldn’t deal with everything that had happened to him as a kid, and to then think of it all being done to his _own daughter_ was too much.

He didn’t freak out this time though. He simply turned down the volume on the TV and looked at her with the best smile he could manage, one she unfortunately saw right through, and motioned her over to his lap.

“Hey darling,” he said softly, “how was school?”

“We got to colour these butterflies Mrs. Peazer had photographed yesterday!” she told him eagerly, the TV forgotten, “a-and she’d printed them out on this thick paper so we could put it all up on the wall when we were finished. I didn’t finish. Neither did Nattie. So we’re supposed to do it tomorrow because then we’ll go out in the woods.”

“That sounds awesome,” Harry whispered. He was meant to be strong, not like this _shell_ or whatever resembled him at the moment.

And then another weight dropped down next to him and kissed his cheek.

“What are you doing?” his husband hummed and their daughter shifted too quickly in Harry’s lap to face him. So she began telling him about her day and Harry watched them with the ghost of a smile.

At least Louis hadn’t robbed him of this.


End file.
